


Love You To Death

by chiaroscure



Category: What We Do in the Shadows (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Consensual Necrophilia, M/M, Romantic Necrophilia, Temporary Character Death, Vampire Turning, he died but he is fine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:48:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27195352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chiaroscure/pseuds/chiaroscure
Summary: Now there is peace to the quiet surrounding this person whose body has always sung to him. No gust of breath, no tide of blood, no sweet sure rhythm of the heart he has counted on every second of every night for the last short eternity.Sickfic gone wrong gone right.
Relationships: Guillermo de la Cruz/Nandor the Relentless
Comments: 9
Kudos: 53





	Love You To Death

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the song "Love You To Death," originally by Type O Negative, but I recommend the cover by Starset as that is what I had on repeat while writing this
> 
> Many, many thanks to [chels](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chelsfic/pseuds/chels) for betaing this!

_ I beg to serve, your wish is my law _

_ Now close those eyes and let me love you to death _

_ Shadows prove I mean what I’m saying, begging _

_ I say the beast inside of me’s gonna get you _

_ Get you _

_ * _

Guillermo smells like fever and bile. His skin is waxy, clammy — somehow hot and cold at the same time. He’s tired and he’s miserable and he looks like he’s going to keel over at any moment.

It is _not_ sexy.

Unfortunately, that does not mean sex isn’t going to happen.

Nandor is trying not to wrinkle his nose at the acrid stench of sickness leaking from Guillermo’s pores as he kisses behind his ear. It seems impolite to grimace in disgust at someone’s malfunctioning human body whilst three fingers deep in them, somehow, no matter how gross the malfunctioning might actually be.

“We do not need to be doing this,” he whispers, nipping at an earlobe. He cannot imagine that he would want to be doing this, if their roles were reversed and he were as sick as Guillermo is. “You could be having a nice hot bath, maybe. Or you could just lie here, and I will dab at your head with a cloth like the nurse in that film was doing for the soldier man who —”

“Shh,” Guillermo cuts him off. “Please…” He twists his shoulders so that he can look at him. It’s obvious from Guillermo’s face that even this small action takes a painful amount of effort, “please just fuck me.”

“Okay, okay,” Nandor grumbles, “very demanding for somebody in your situation, but sure.”

Guillermo just smirks pallidly at how quick Nandor is to bend to his request.

It is very unfair that Guillermo is always so seductive, even when he is being gross and unappetizing. The mortal shifts his hips to the extent that he is able, as much to demonstrate that he wants this as to make the change in position easier. The voluptuous way that his rapidly weakening muscles flex as Nandor lifts his legs almost makes up for the rest of the unpleasantness. _Almost._

Nandor is very mindful of how he handles Guillermo’s fragile mortal body as he settles between his thighs. Ordinarily, some amount of roughness is appreciated, and ordinarily Guillermo can give (nearly) as good as he’s given, but tonight is different. Tonight, the plush, slick skin under Nandor’s fingers feels more fragile than it feels strong: precious but delicate as fine tissue, with the heat under it flickering like a candle’s flame in a windstorm. His lips part as Nandor slides slowly into him, watching his flush-pale face for any sign of discomfort, though there is none but a slight ripple in his gleaming eyelids with the pleasured knitting of his brows.

When Nandor is buried to the root, he pauses to remind himself that he is present too, not just Guillermo. That is a strange fact to have forgotten, but it has not really felt that way. Neglecting the importance of his own role here would be undiplomatic at best: it is an honor to be asked to be a part of this, no matter how unpleasant much of it is.

He holds his breath and closes his own eyes for a long moment just to feel the fevered heat around him, laxer than is normal but deliriously good anyway. He listens to his mortal’s fast, shallow pulse disrupting the air between them, heart valiantly pumping his infected blood to keep pace with his undeniable arousal.

So, okay, this is maybe a little bit sexy.

“You can move,” Guillermo murmurs hoarsely. His voice is exhausted already but there’s also a tinge of exasperation in it that Nandor is going to choose to ignore this once. He pulls back, then thrusts forward again in as fluid a stroke as he can manage, eliciting a hiss of air from between Guillermo’s teeth.

“Look at me, Nandor?”

The words are phrased like a command, but they definitely sound like a question this time. Nandor answers without hesitation, opening his eyes again to look into Guillermo’s. They are pink and bloodshot, heavy lidded more with fatigue than with arousal, but just meeting his gaze sends a jolt of arousal through him that Guillermo must feel because he smiles hazily, apparently satisfied.

Nandor pushes Guillermo’s sweaty curls off his forehead, reveling in the way it makes his lashes flutter, then wraps his hand around Guillermo’s miraculously hard cock to stroke in time with the rhythm he has set with his hips.

“Is this good?” he asks. Guillermo’s eyes are closed again, his breathing weak, but the soft smile is still playing on his mouth.

“Yes,” he whispers. He pauses; his fingers move vaguely, then stop again beside him. “Nandor…I’m…kiss me.”

So, of course, Nandor does. He leans forward, not stopping the motion of his hips or his fist, free hand resting at the crux of Guillermo’s jaw and throat, where his pulse is strongest, and presses their lips together. Guillermo’s mouth respond to his, and though Nandor has to do most of the work, the slight returned pressure reassures him that he’s doing this right. He kisses him slowly, not quite shy but languid, counting the beats of Guillermo’s heart against his thumb while somehow falling out of time too.

For some reason, he notices that Guillermo’s mouth has gone slack before he notices that his heart has stopped beating. The pulse should be more obvious, right? Usually the pulse is the main thing he pays any attention to, when people die under him.

Reflexively, he stops moving too, with their lips still pressed together. He doesn’t really want to pull back because he doesn’t really want to look, but the alternative to pulling back is staying like this, and that doesn’t seem great either. So, reluctantly, he lifts himself away from the newly dead body.

The concept of having sex that starts in life that outlasts and overpowers death seemed romantic when Guillermo suggested it, but Nandor didn’t quite believe he was serious at the time. He’s not sure _why_ he didn’t believe he was serious: the more he learns about what goes on in Guillermo’s head, the more he realizes that his ex-familiar has a lot of very, very strange ideas. Normally, he’d blame it on the century, or the country, or too much thinking about Antonin Brandieros or whatever, but he has to admit that the kinds of things Guillermo is into might go beyond all that — in general, people across places and times seem to be less than enthusiastic about autassassinophilia, erotophonophilia, and necrophilia.

It’s exciting to have found someone so young with such advanced tastes, actually. By the time most vampires get into some of those, they’ve been kicking around for a few centuries and they’re bored of silverplay and the like — or they’re new, and they approach death with the same snickering attitude as they approach everything else. Nandor himself kind of lost interest in most of this stuff before he hit the corpse-fucking stage, honestly, but Guillermo’s youthful, sincere attitude rubs off on him more than he ever would have expected. It has really revived some of his old adventurous spirit.

At the moment, though, Guillermo is dead, and it is proving to be inconveniently difficult for Nandor to stay in the mood all by himself. Without Guillermo’s contagious enthusiasm to carry him along, it’s all too clear that he never _genuinely_ got the point of this. Now, alone, he finds himself struggling to remember why he ever agreed in the first place.

So far Guillermo looks the same, at least. The aloneness would be worse if he didn’t. He’s…waxier…than he was a few seconds ago, but his expression is peaceful. Content, even.

The stillness does give the picture an uncanny quality, though. Guillermo looks like a split second’s blink of himself when he’s asleep, drawn out for much too long. It’s a bit unsettling, actually. It has been a few centuries since someone went still like this while Nandor was inside them, and he can’t honestly say that he has missed the feeling. 

At least back then the blood high mostly blotted out the weirdness. But he took Guillermo’s blood almost two days ago: the backs of his teeth hide no hot tang of life now. Now, there is only the cool mineral taste of his own tongue.

To distract himself, he smooths a curl that is sweat-plastered to Guillermo’s still-warm forehead. Guillermo, obviously, doesn’t react.

Nandor frowns. The smell of disease is harder to ignore when Guillermo can’t respond to his touch.

He glances around the room, the stifling yellow of the air heavy around him. He is used to finding himself suddenly alone when a heart stops. Usually there is no illness to precede it (any vampire will tell you that the sick have little nutritional value, as well as an unpleasant aftertaste), but regardless, he is used to people dying. The stink of corrupted life is just another detail, no worse than the reek that descends on a slaughter after battle. It is not even as bad as that, probably; he doesn’t really remember well enough to compare. It has been a while.

Just the same, he is not sure he wants to be breathing anymore. Unlike in his conquering days, he can choose not to, at least. Even if it’s too late to keep the sour unease from gnawing at the inside of his skin.

He turns back to the task at hand, a plan constructing itself in his mind to stay focused only on Guillermo until this is over.

He winces at the sight that greets him. It has only been a minute at most, but Guillermo is _definitely_ dead. The color in his face is too flat, and his lips have already gone a little greyish. He looks _basically_ fine; he’ll look worse soon, but for now he’s just still in a way that Guillermo is not usually still.

Nandor considers for a moment if this body that he is looking at is Guillermo right now or if it’s not anymore. Then he wonders if Guillermo finds it disquieting to look at Nandor when he is sleeping, when he is pale and unmoving just like this. He decides that Guillermo almost certainly thinks that that is fine, and maybe good or glamorous, and possibly even alluring.

Then he wonders if Guillermo would ever be interested in doing this in reverse some time later. That seems much more appealing than this way around, and it makes him remember that, somehow, he is actually still hard, and still inside the body under him, whether or not it can still reasonably be called Guillermo.

It is good to be looking at Guillermo’s face, actually, now that he is getting used to it. He was looking at Guillermo’s face when he agreed to do him this favor. Yes, Guillermo was looking at him then unlike now, and the other night the room smelled like amber instead of death, and Guillermo’s cheeks were flushed with his smile, but the face was the same, and it was not so very hard for Nandor to fathom the appeal of this. It was a weird request, and pretty pointless, but it was for Guillermo, and so sure, yes, he could do it. He would.

“I _am_ doing it,” he mutters peevishly. “You cannot see me but if you could you would be saying, ‘oh, he is going to be giving up at any minute now, he thinks it is gross to be fucking my corpse, he can’t do it after all’ — but you are wrong, Guillermo! You think that I will be put off that easily?”

He snaps his hips forward for emphasis. Guillermo’s body jostles deadly. It’s a little bit awful, to be honest, and not improved by the dissonant heat lingering inside of the body. But this is also the last time that heat will be there, so Nandor decides that he might as well make the most of it.

“I will do this because this is important to you, but I don’t know why it is,” he tells the face. He continues moving, more for distraction than anything — this is just going to take however long it’s going to take, so he might as well try to get his mind off of it somehow. He’s not keeping much of a rhythm, but, then, it’s not like Guillermo is going to complain at the moment.

“This is a very pointless thing to have opinions about. Nobody remembers what happens during this part. You are being very unreasonable, you know that?” He pauses. “No, you don’t know that; you don’t know anything right now. You don’t even know that I am here doing what you asked me to do, do you? What kind of a favor is that to ask for from me, when you cannot even prove that I have done it properly?”

It is a bit annoying to be talking to someone whose eyes are mostly closed, now that he thinks about it. He would rather Guillermo be looking at him during their conversations, even the one-sided ones. On impulse, he reaches forward to gently open first Guillermo’s left eye, then his right.

That is better, actually. It’s not great; his eyes are unfocused and glassy and not pointed at him, but it’s nice to see them. There’s nothing behind them, but that’s okay. Nandor waves his hand experimentally in front of them, and smirks at the lack of reaction.

“You look very stupid like this, Guillermo,” he comments, his hands wrapping fondly around Guillermo’s hips. Guillermo continues to stare wordlessly at the ceiling. “You think dead things are so cool? You should see yourself. So embarrassing for you.”

As if to prove his point, Guillermo’s mouth falls sluggishly open. Nandor snickers.

“Am I offending to you? Well that is too bad! You have asked me to do something weird and so I am allowed to make fun of you while you are too dead to care. You would laugh at me, if I was looking like that; do not try to…”

He trails off. A moment ago he was wondering if this situation would be better the other way around, but come to think of it, what _would_ Guillermo actually do, if their roles were reversed? Guillermo is the one with real opinions about this sort of thing; this is _for_ him but it is also very much an idea that comes _from_ him. Nandor stops moving again, this time to stare thoughtfully at Guillermo’s senseless eyes.

Guillermo asked him to keep going the whole time, but, upon some reflection, Nandor wonders if he might be taking that request too literally. Guillermo had been quite insistent that they should not do this if it was going to bother him. This isn’t _supposed_ to be an unpleasant chore. So there is no reason, as far as Nandor can tell, to force himself to keep this up _exactly_ as directed, given that he is a bit grossed out by the situation. 

He remembers, too, that Guillermo is, really, very young. He is very young, and he has had very limited experiences. His imaginings run deep for the things he knows to imagine, but his range is more like a canyon than a valley thanks to the comparative drabness of his short life — and he is too good at what he spent that life doing to understand when he should want more. He has been to very few proper funerals and still fewer feasts; he has never been married; he has been victorious in combat but never celebrated for it as he should have been, never been crowned, never, never, never…

“You have planned this badly, Guillermo,” he concludes, frowning at Guillermo’s blank face. “You have planned this badly because you do not know anything, but that is not your fault. I am going to fix this situation for you, okay?”

He gives the body a firm pat on the flank, nods decisively, and slides away off of the bed.

The latches on the papered-over windows stick from disuse, but they don’t break when he forces them. Fresh night air floods the stuffy room — he stands there just breathing it, unnecessary though that is, for a few seconds, the oppressive staleness around them washing away like a fever breaking. 

Then he flicks the two lamps off, plunging the room into blue darkness. Ten minutes ago, Guillermo would not be able to see in such low light, but a quarter of an hour from now, it will be more than enough for him. The artificial light might even hurt his newmade eyes; it is difficult to remember, but better safe than sorry for this kind of thing. Instead, he locates a box of matches in one of the drawers and lights one of the many candles stashed around, making sure to choose one on the side of the room behind Guillermo so that only its glow and not its glare will light his revival.

He debates with himself about the merits of incense for quite a while. At first he makes for the door to fetch some from his crypt, but stops when he remembers that he is still naked. Then, undershirt part-way on, he decides that, actually, incense is nice but not as nice as fresh air for this situation, then puts the shirt back on thinking that this is a special occasion and deserves the most special of everything, then remembers that technically this is Guillermo’s special occasion and he’s not sure which is Guillermo’s favorite incense or if he even likes it very much or thinks of it as special. Ultimately, though, he gives up and decides that he doesn’t want to leave the room and so the point is moot anyway.

When he was Guillermo’s age, he would have demanded much more fanfare about his own turning, had he been in a position to have preferences about it. That was back then, though. The centuries have taught him some things and blurred others. But sometimes, when he’s lucky, wisdom comes into sharp focus. He returns to the bed, calm in the scene’s simplicity. The cool, cleansing air flows freely into his lungs. The single dancing flame paints the edges of shadows with glowing light. This feels like one of those lucky moments. 

There are no signs of change in the body yet, which is for the best, because the way life had left it was a bit haphazard. Memories of fallen kissing kin on funeral biers and favored wives on marriage beds flash behind his eyes in a crackle of the candle, but the flame quiets and the real image of Guillermo washes those long-lost others out with ease.

After the sheets, he smooths Guillermo’s limbs, which are sprawled awkwardly in ungraceful positions that Nandor can see look uncomfortable, now that they are the only things in disarray in the room. That’s Nandor’s fault, and he murmurs an apology as he sets them right.

“That is much better,” he assures the body, sliding a pillow under its head. “You will be much more comfortable now.”

He stands back with this done to inspect his work. Only a moment ago Guillermo’s skin had a dull waxiness to it, but now it looks creamy smooth and drinks the light like clouded amber. This is something most books get wrong; vampirism does not bless a corpse with unnatural perfection; the body is the source of its own beauty and ugliness depending on its treatment from within and without. The supple lines of his arms and legs, the exquisite curves of his belly and chest, the elegant sculpting of his hands, are mesmerizing when relaxed, but when vampirism breathes Guillermo into them again soon, they will put the descriptions of Edward or Armand to shame.

The sweat has dried on his brow now. Nandor again brushes the loose glossy curls back, fussing with them to get them just right. He must be smiling already, because he smiles wider when he meets Guillermo’s vacant eyes, staring sightlessly through his face.

“I am doing not bad at this, yes?” he murmurs with a cheeky nod. “Even if it is not exactly what you asked me for.”

The corpse does not respond. Nandor takes that as a win.

He can see better, now, why someone would want this. Without Guillermo to pull him in he was adrift in this new ritual, but now that it feels more like a ritual as he understands them to be. Now there is peace to the quiet surrounding this person whose body has always sung to him. No gust of breath, no tide of blood, no sweet sure rhythm of the heart he has counted on every second of every night for the last short eternity. When he finally decided to do this, he wondered if being the reason for that heart to stop would hurt him, too. But now that it is done, he can glimpse what Guillermo has always known: that he is the only thing capable of making its silence not a tragedy but a triumph. This is what Guillermo has wanted for so long, and Nandor, at last, has accepted the honor of giving it to him. His body rests now on the altar of the bed they’ve shared, as a sacrifice both of and to himself, waiting for the one last act of devotion it is owed on this side of mortality.

And there’s no reason to wait to give it to him any longer.

Guillermo’s legs are leaden in his hands as he grips the backs of his knees to bend them. Their lifeless pliancy makes them feel fragile; it makes him want to be inordinately careful. Guillermo has always trusted him to take care of him while he can’t take care of himself, and he wants to deserve that trust. The yielding flesh smooths under his palm, the lax muscle undulating between his splayed fingers as he lifts them to return to his place. He might not have been here the whole time, but he knelt here as Guillermo slipped out of his last life, and he will be here when Guillermo slips into his next. A quarter of an hour ago, he would not have believed he would be able to stir himself to hardness before Guillermo awoke with anything but mechanical physical commitment, but now desire stirs low in his abdomen again.

He sinks one hand into the welcoming flesh lining Guillermo’s hip, and with the other he feels the scabbed punctures on Guillermo’s throat where no pulse will ever thrum again.

The new stillness of Guillermo’s artery matches the ancient stillness of his own veins. It feels right.

His eyes drift up to Guillermo’s parted plump, pale, doll-pretty lips. The thin starlight from the window glints in the darkness between them differently — more sharply — than it did before. He smiles with fluttering pride.

It won’t be long now.

All the blood keeping Guillermo hard has drained him flaccid again. That probably happened a while ago; the dead are great at going stiff except, annoyingly, in this one particular way. Guillermo’s cleft is still slick, though, so it doesn’t really matter. Nandor’s three fingers slip easily inside of him to check that he’s still loose enough, but without muscle contractions, Guillermo’s body remains as ready to take him as it ever was.

He pours out a bit of extra oil for good measure and works himself quickly to full hardness again. In one stroke he bottoms out, his breathy moan in the quiet room ringing in his ears. Inside, Guillermo is going to be warm for a good few hours yet, but he can already feel their temperatures reaching to meet each other. The chill that has settled on the surface of the corpse’s skin makes it glide that much more naturally under the vampire’s touch, no longer burning but softening the edges between them. His nerves sing at every point of contact, from the cool press of their pelvises to the tip of his cock straining into that temporary warmth.

And fuck, it is good. Finding a rhythm is easy now; he moves with rolling thrusts, deep and slow, not in a rush to get anywhere. This will last as long as it needs to, as long as Guillermo wants it to.

With a sigh of, “ah, Guillermo,” he tips forward to be closer. His cheek presses into the rich lining over the powerful pectoral beneath, and breathes deeply the familiar scent there. It is not heated by life anymore, but it is still unmistakably Guillermo. Nandor drinks it in greedily, laving at the skin there with his tongue to get more of it even as his hips continue their patient rocking.

He pulls back again to check Guillermo’s face for any further signs of change, though he’s not sure of what they would even be. His eyes are still sightless and glassy, his expression still wan and impassive, but the glint under the corners of his lips seems a little brighter than it was a moment ago. The lips, maybe, a little pinker. A tingle runs up his spine at the sight.

As carefully as before, he lifts Guillermo’s legs up around his waist. The depth from the new angle makes his breath hitch as he surges forward to cover Guillermo’s mouth with his own. He has never been much of a fan of one-sided kissing, but he wants to be sure the glinting is what he thinks it is. Checking with his fingers would be very unromantic, so he gives the same attention with his lips as he would if Guillermo were alive. He does not want to be rude by pushing too far too fast, but when enough time has passed that Guillermo would ordinarily be welcoming more, he licks into Guillermo’s mouth, feeling for anything unusual, anything new, anything sharp… 

He moans thickly, pressing as deep as he can into Guillermo with his hips, as he finds the point of what is unmistakably a fang jutting from Guillermo’s upper jaw. Then there is a moment of confusion as the air is sucked from him, like his moan is being stolen somehow. But before he startles, he registers the moving of the chest against his own and hears the gasp of dead lungs shuddering back to life. So instead of pulling away, he pours all the breath he has left into the kiss to welcome Guillermo to undeath.

When he has no air left to give, though, he does pull back to check his face. This arrangement was the plan, but it’s impossible to predict what Guillermo’s reaction might be now. Dying can change a person’s perspective on things, after all.

Guillermo’s eyes, bright and sharp again — if a bit dazed — meet his. His mouth is slack, but that doesn’t make him look stupid as it did a moment ago. No, this expression is one of shock, and wonder, and something pure that, even now, Nandor sometimes hesitates to name but that he has no trouble recognizing.

Nandor thinks for a moment that he might say something, then that Guillermo might say something. Then he thinks they are both about to smile, but Guillermo, shifting as he comes back into awareness of his body, wiggles his hips and clenches a bit, and Nandor, without meaning to, bucks forward into him, and then they’re kissing again, gasping into each other’s mouths, clawing and pulling at each other desperately, all pretenses of patience flying out the open window.

It doesn’t take long. Guillermo, despite starting at zero, is unused to his new vampiric senses and comes hard with little warning. Nandor fucks him through it but follows not far behind with something between a growl and a whine that he muffles against Guillermo’s neck.

They lie there, spent, for a long moment. Nandor watches the candlelight dancing over Guillermo’s skin as he returns to himself, ear pressed against Guillermo’s chest, both their scents mingling in the fresh night air around them.

“You really did it,” Guillermo whispers against the top of his head.

Nandor isn’t sure whether Guillermo means this specifically or finally turning him at all, but when he leans up to look at him, he can tell that it’s probably both. He wonders too if Guillermo has noticed that the room is different, but he only wonders that for a moment: of course Guillermo has noticed. Guillermo is very good at noticing things. But there’s no mocking or resentment in Guillermo’s clear dark eyes, just something that, at the moment, looks a lot like magic.

“Thank you,” Guillermo murmurs with a smile, fangs gleaming, and kisses him again with his newly cool mouth.

He has no reason to thank him, though. He should have done this a long time ago. But now that he has, he’s glad to have done so in a way that makes Guillermo want to kiss him for tonight. Maybe for a few years. Maybe for forever?

Forever is at least an option now, finally. 


End file.
